


Cold December Nights

by Theworldisours



Series: Too Late For Lullabies [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cousin Incest, Depression, Falling In Love, Family Drama, First Kiss, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sexuality Crisis, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theworldisours/pseuds/Theworldisours
Summary: Christmas for the Starks is always a big celebration, and as time goes and it gets harder to get the whole clan together it becomes more and more so, but more than family dinners, embarassing stories shared over drinks and ugly sweaters, for Jon christmas means going back home, to the place where he grew up... to Robb, and all the memories they made over all those christmas nights.





	1. One

 

* * *

_When we were sitting in the curb and snowflakes were melting in your hair_

* * *

  

Jon had watched the snow glazing out the windows of his grandmother’s house, eyes moving with the snowflakes as they hit the glass, the windowsill, the ground. Arya jumped next to him on his grandpa’s old armchair, making it squeak slightly through the sound of cups being filled, emptied and clinking together, chatter, and the low rumble of music filling the living room of his mother’s childhood home.

Arya snuggled up to him, in that way of hers, burying her head on his chest and holding him a little too tight, probably something Sansa had said. Jon ruffled her hair. “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’.” The sound of her voice was muffled on the sweater Robb had dared Jon to wear, the one with red-nosed reindeers on grey wool.

“Oh, really?” He asked, hands moving to her sides before she could escape and tickling her. Arya’s laughter attracted attention and with a look from his aunt both of them stopped moving, though Arya couldn’t contain her giggling.

“Arya, what have we talked about?” Catelyn asked in a sharp tone, stopping her contained but not any less obvious argument with Jon’s mother and raising an eyebrow at Arya.

Arya very nearly rolled her eyes, but in the end just muttered ‘fine’ and settled more comfortably next to Jon, whose attention had gone from Catelyn to Robb, laughing at something their uncle Benjen had said, Jon watched as Benjen patted Robb on the arm before going to talk with uncle Ned.

Robb’s gaze met his, crinkles from the laugh still at the side of his eyes. Just a few hours ago, when they had first arrived Robb had wrapped Jon into a long hug. “Missed you.” He had said. They hadn’t seen each other for only a few months, but Jon couldn’t remember ever enjoying a hug so much. He tried to tell himself it was just the cold making him blush then, and now that he was under Robb’s gaze once again, Jon had never learned how to lie to himself though.

He had noticed, before, the way he’d feel around Robb. Like stepping on thin ice. Like wrapping himself all over the warmth that spread over his body whenever he and Robb shared a smile. The way he felt, all those months away.

Jon had tried to tell himself it meant nothing, to ignore it and hope it went away, but whenever he thought it was just some silly idea, well, Robb was there to change his mind. It wasn’t just Robb—Jon still didn’t yet know whether that was a relief or not—, he could remember distinctively the way he had felt when his professor introduced a new student last week. Jon almost missed his name thinking about how pretty he was, and how awkward he felt when the boy said hi.

It had made him so nervous then, still did, but it was mixed with something—something a lot like excitement—growing on his stomach and moving towards his chest, begging him to do _something_ about the way he felt when Robb looked at him like that.

He looked at his mother, the way her lips curled around a glass of wine as Grandma pulled her by the hand towards the kitchen, she hated cooking, but her mom demanded help from all her children with the feast. He thought about that often too, the way parents seemed to care little what their kids wanted, in the end. He wondered if she’d be like that too, too busy thinking about who he should be to see who he is.

Meanwhile, Robb kept smiling at him like he knew a secret, like he was dying to share it with Jon.  He felt his heartbeat quicken, wondered if he’d feel Robb’s heart racing the same pace as his if Jon touched his chest.

Dinner was like a feast, his grandma had little chances to see all the family united these days, and it seemed like she was intent on making the chances she had count. There were sweets and candy and cake, there was also real food—almost entirely foregone by the kids—ham, and soup, a roasted turkey, macaroni and chesse, mashed potatoes, roasted mushroom with vegetables, which was all Sansa filled her plate with, which caused, Jon noticed, an exchange of worried glances from Ned and Catelyn. That and plenty of wine, eggnog and a bottle of champagne.

Jon watched as Ned played with Rickon, convincing him to eat something other than candy, Jon had always looked up to him, tried to be like him, but he was afraid he was failing miserably. Robb on the other hand was sure his father’s son, and Jon was embarrassed to say how much he envied him, for his relationship with his father—for having a father.

Benjen took him away from his thoughts by subtly placing a glass of wine next to him, Jon smiled at him, receiving a wink in response as his uncle carried his conversation with his grandfather, not that Jon thought he’d pay it any mind.

Jon looked at his mother as he took a sip, she raised her glass at him, a permission but also a warning, but it lost its effect when she allowed Arya to steal cake from her own plate. Jon smiled, letting the sounds of his family eating take him back to all the Christmas from his childhood, when everything was much simpler.

After dinner, his grandmother made sure to stop him on his way back to the living room.

“Don’t you think you can just run off because your mother decided to,” She said fixing his colar, Jon could remember how hurt she’d been when Lyanna told her they were moving away, “I’m not one to lose sight of mine. you come visit, or there’ll be no more Christmas gifts for you.”

Jon hugged her, smiling against her shoulder. “I promise grandma.”

 

It was later, when midnight had come and gone, gifts already been exchanged, bottles and even more empty bottles piled up in the kitchen near the plates they had used at dinner; when their grandparents had already excused themselves to bed and the younger ones had fallen asleep despite their stubbornly ways that he found out the reason to Robb’s smile.

They sneaked outside, into the snowy front yard, Jon pulled the edge of his sweater down, as though it’d make it any less colder. Their steps left footprints to be followed as Robb braced himself, looking up at the dark sky filled with white dots as the snow fell onto their faces.

Robb pushed the snow away with his foot and sat down in the curb, waiting for Jon to follow before he produced a stolen bottle of his mother’s wine, a wide smile on his lips.

“Oh,” Jon said, feeling his heart beat faster and his stomach twist, it wasn’t the first time they had sneaked past their parents to do something like this, but… the lights were still on, his mom was probably still awake somewhere in the house, Robb’s parents had been chatting quietly earlier before Robb dragged him away.

If they were found, Jon started—but then he looked at Robb’s face, at the snow around them, the thousand little lights decorating the houses in the street. It’d feel very childish to not accept the bottle as Robb passed it to him after taking a long sip of it himself. Jon told himself that was the only reason he took it. Not to see the color rising on Robb’s cheek, to feel the warmth of his fingers against his, not to spend every carefree moment like this with Robb—when time seemed to stand still and life made sense, when cheer and excitement filled up his chest.

Robb laughed lightly, easily, it had always made Jon jealous, how carefree he always was, the way he could smile, his breath making smoke rise and be so unaware of the turmoil going on inside Jon at that very moment. Jon didn’t think—at least not most of the time—that Robb would be feeling like this, this conflicted and confused, this lost and hopeless and _wrong_. But then, sometimes their eyes would meet and Jon would think, or hope, and for a second or two he’d be sure it meant _something_ —what, exactly, he was never able to tell before the moment was gone, one of them would look away and it was just awkward to have ever thought it possible.

Jon drank, taking more than he thought he should at once and barely managing to avoid gagging on the wine. He passed the bottle back to Robb, pulling it back just as Robb’s fingers reached for it. He got a smirk in return when Robb closed his fingers around the neck of the bottle, cold fingers touching on top of cold glass.

“How’s school?” Robb asked. Warming up his hands while Jon held the bottle.

“Really?” Jon asked, with a snort. “Smalltalk at this hour?”

“Oh, shut up.” Robb said, his foot hitting Jon’s covered leg. “I really missed you.” He said, lower this time as he looked away before meeting Jon’s eyes. Jon tried not to take notice of it being the second time he said that only a few hours apart.  He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face though.

He looked down, not wanting Robb to see how much it meant to him, to be missed, when he looked back up it was with a playful smile. “Aw, Robb, if I know how much you cared I’d never—”

“Jon, I swear to god.” Robb said, shaking his head as Jon threw his head back laughing. Robb threw a pinch of snow at him, not much, not enough to start a fight but enough to go with his muffled ‘dick’.

“I missed you too.” Jon said when he stopped laughing. It came out easy, too easy, there were far more embarrassing things to admit.

Robb took the bottle from his hands, taking a quick sip of it.

“How much trouble do you think we’d get in? If they found out?” Jon asked, he watched Robb swallow the wine, licking his lips at the sweet taste before answering.

“No more than it was worth it.” Robb said, his voice low, there was a glint in his eyes again, the one that made shivers run through Jon’s skin. It made him wonder what Robb meant. If all this was just for drinking, or if he had called him here, out into the cold, for reasons other than getting warm with a stolen bottle of wine.

Robb kept looking at him, and for once Jon stayed still, letting his breath puff out clouds into the night, the air seemed to shift, his skin prickled. He wasn’t imagining it, he told himself, he couldn’t possibly fool himself like this. Every cell on his body told him this was what he was waiting for, but he was frozen to his place, and yes, it was quite accurate seeing as he was sitting in the snow but then, so was Robb, and he seemed not to be frozen at all as he shifted until they were close enough to feel each other’s breaths, each other’s warmth.

Jon watched, still unmoving as Robb moved even closer. Snowflakes were melting in his hair, auburn strands glinting with the reflection of red and blue and green lights. Robb’s fingers cold on the skin of his cheek, but Jon had never felt so warm. Their lips touched, Jon remembered Robb’s tongue tracing them earlier and didn’t resist the urge to do the same now, tracing it with the tip of his own tongue, his stomach cold with fear of Robb’s reaction but far too gone to stop now.

Robb let out all the air still on his lungs, and then they were kissing. Really kissing. Jon’s heart seemed to want to leap off his chest, and he didn’t find it in himself to care, getting lost in the sensation of Robb kissing him. Kissing _him_. It didn’t seem real.

He knew they’d be in great trouble if anyone came out the door now, but that only seemed to make Jon kiss him more. While he still could. His hands moved to Robb’s shoulders, holding him in place, wishing somehow to get him even closer.

Robb pulled away, laughing, happy. Color high on his cheeks as Jon tried to calm his heart, breathing against Robb’s neck, watching the hairs on the back rise with his breath.

“I-I didn’t know if you—” He started, then stopped, chuckling at the ground.

“I do.” Jon said, understanding what he meant without needing to hear the rest of it. He felt the same.

Robb looked at him.

“Can we do it again?” He asked, avoiding meeting Jon’s eyes as he bit his lip, as if he was afraid Jon would deny it. As if he ever could.

Jon nodded, mouth dry, heart racing again, throat constricting, his hands still on Robb’s shoulder, on his face. He spared a look at the door before his eyes were closed and Robb’s lips were on his again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm finally posting a christmas fic, cheers.  
> I do feel like mentioning I realize sitting in the snow is not a good idea but in my defense I had the image of them sitting in the curb before I started writing and it doesn't snow where I live. Next parts are probably coming... before christmas I hope, let's see. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, you can find me [here](http://www.lyannasjon.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... updating _after_ christmas, but oh well. Fair warning, this is like a Lemony Snicket version of a christmas fic, so in Lemony style, if you're expecting pretty trees full of gifts, hugs and warm chocolate you should probably go read something else (and then come back).  
> 

 

* * *

_When we were standing in the porch and your hand was cold on mine_

* * *

 

He was no longer a boy, people kept reminding him, as though he wasn’t aware of it. Of all the expectations piling up on him as he grew older, as if a birthday, another year, had suddenly made him another person, wiser, better.

Robb knew he was no longer a boy, knew he had no time for playthings or expecting Christmas gifts in a cold December morning, he knew he ought to meet the hope people trusted him with, and yet he felt so unprepared and small. A child playing pretend. And he never felt more so than that Christmas, with his mother’s disappointed glare on his back as he made the steps to the front door, hoping Jon wasn’t inside yet—hoping he was.

It was a long time coming, he thought, the whole thing, from the very moment they kissed. Jon’s sweet, chapped lips on his, cold from being outside in the snow, warm by the time they were done. The kiss that doomed them both.

They hid it for as long as they could. With stolen kisses and midnight calls and weekends spent together, those holidays with their grandparents, (“If your grandfather knew!” his mother had said, “Lyarra… I don’t know if _she_ could take it.”) somehow, along the way, they got a little bit careless.

They had always been close, he had heard his father say in an argument with his mother just a few days before. “There was no way to know.” Robb wanted to laugh, dry and cold, ask them what exactly the problem was. Was it that he was dating a boy, or that the boy was his cousin?

He could picture the way his mother would react, shocked, angry, ask him if he had no thought of his siblings in his mind, of the example he was setting.

The thing was, he didn’t think for a second this was about Jon, about _who_ he had been dating—of course, it being Jon was the last drop in an already full glass, but it was also an excuse—he did not think it mattered whether it was Jon or anybody else, it boiled down to him being in love with a man.

Robb hated to think that, but he couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard he tried, and amidst it all, he found he had little fight in him to argue with his mother on all her rants about how wrong and immoral it was, how it’d destroy his grandmother and disappoint his grandfather. He just listened and listened, and now, here he was, walking to a Christmas party that scarcely felt like Christmas, wondering if that night when he dragged Jon out into the cold with the promise, or excuse, of a warm drink he had unwittingly ruined it all—them, their family.

Jon had been calling him all week, and though it had made him feel like the worst person on earth Robb had never answered, instead watching the screen flash with his name until he gave up.

The next morning his dad took the phone from him, his face blank as his mother drank her tea, trying to appear calm and telling him it’d be better that way.

He wondered if Jon would be mad, throwing glares and demanding explanations, cursing Robb for being too stupid and coward to pick up the damn phone. That was better than the alternative, he thought that Jon would be sad and withdrawn, think he had all the answers and leave Robb to it, or even that perhaps he’d just understand, and instead of anger and accusations he’d get silent nods and heartbroken eyes for what remained of the year. Who knows for how long after that too.

There was one thing he could agree on with his mother. When they started this, they failed to realize what it’d mean if it ended— _once_ it ended, she had said—they might not be lovers anymore, but they’d remain cousins. Even if they wanted, even if they tried, they would never be able to avoid each other completely. Not that Robb thought he’d ever want not to see Jon, but what if it just hurt too much?

The warmth of the house was almost too much when it met the dusky night air Robb let in as he and his parents arrived, his grandparents having picked up his siblings a few hours earlier. He saw Sansa sitting on the couch with phone in hand as she texted rapidly at someone, maybe Jeyne or Joffrey, the prat.

Arya ran into the room chasing after Rickon who laughed and screamed at her until he saw them by the door and ran towards them, hiding behind Robb.

“Not fair.” Arya told him as their father picked him from the floor and raised him above his head.

Robb pulled the scarf from his neck, absentmindedly leaving it on a hanger as he made his way to the adjacent dining room, where Lyanna was talking with redhaired girl who, Robb was quite sure, was glaring at him like he’d personally murdered newborn puppies.

“Robb.” Lyanna said, her voice strained and so much unlike what he’d come to expect from his aunt—his _aunt_ , he repeated on his head, the guilt had always been there but now that they had been caught it was much sharper, making him wonder how badly he’d wanted Jon to ignore it in the first place. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good,” Robb said shortly, “where’s Jon?”

“He went to get a few things for me,” Lyanna said, pouring herself a glass of wine, “this is Ygritte by the way, a friend of his.”

Robb took in her red hair, the freckles on her skin, she smiled, or smirked, and Robb decided he didn’t like her very much.

“Nice to meet you.” He said, sounding much less genuine than he usually would.

“You too,” Ygritte managed to sound even less genuine than he did, Robb wondered how much Jon had told her.

“Good evening, Lya,” his father said, walking into the kitchen, “and merry Christmas.”

Lyanna mumbled a reply, motioning for the kitchen, where Robb could hear chatter, he decided to avoid going there as his father and Lyanna made their way there.

“You’ve known Jon long?” Robb asked Ygritte, after what felt like an eternity standing in silence with only her in the room.

“Since he moved here.” She answered, sitting down at the table and picking up her phone, Robb knew she wasn’t going to give any more details and decided instead to stare at the yellow-ish wallpaper. He was saved from another likely unsuccessful attempt at conversation by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

Robb could swear he felt Jon then. Something in the air making his stomach drop, he felt a little like a prey in those documentaries he’d sometimes see airing while looking for something to watch on TV, raising his ears a second before he was attacked. He wasn’t sure either he wanted to grab Jon and run or run from him.

And then, as he moved towards the window to make sure that it was indeed Jon coming home he felt like he was running towards his doom instead of from it. Jon got out of his mom’s car with another guy, Robb vaguely remembered him from some pictures, he and Jon stopped on the entrance, Jon smiled at something he said and then hugged him before the guy started walking down the street, disappearing inside a few houses down the street.

Robb wasn’t jealous, not exactly, it was more like… he never got the chance to decide what it was before he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned back to see his grandfather smiling at him.

He didn’t know, Robb reminded himself. Not yet.

“There’s my grandson.” He said.

He remembered one night with Jon, sharing a room over their grandparent’s, whispering against each other’s ears in the dark. Jon had said every time he said it what he meant was ‘there’s my favorite grandson’.

“Why wouldn’t he just say that, then?” Robb had asked, wanting to deny it.

Jon snorted. “Cause grandma would pull him by the ears and make him apologize.”

Robb wasn’t sure what to say to this, so he kissed Jon, on the cheek, on the corner of his lips, until Jon opened his mouth to him with a groan. Their grandparents forgotten.

“Merry Christmas, Grandpa.” Robb said as Rickard pulled him into a tight hug.

“How’s school going, son?” He asked, patting Robb’s shoulder. “Good, I hope?”

“Yeah,” Robb said, pretending nothing was wrong, just like his parents wanted.

“Found yourself a girlfriend yet?”

Robb heard as Ygritte coughed into her hand and left the room. Heat rose up on his cheeks as he watched her leave.

“Uh, no.” He said.

“Ah, smart boy, keeping it low.” His grandfather said. “You know, I think that young lady is quite interested in your cousin.” He added looking at the now closed door.

“You think?” Robb asked.

“Well, I assume.” He said, a smirk behind his gray beard. “All those hours up in his room. They sure seem… close.”

“I’m sure they’re just friends.” Robb said, trying to sound casual.

“You’d know better than me.” His grandfather said, lower now, making Robb shift on his toes.

“Ah, come sit with me, I’m getting _something_ out of you tonight.” Robb shook his head smiling at his grandfather as he sat, Rickard poured himself a drink and sat down next to him.

Robb knew it’d take some time until his grandfather let him go, but he didn’t know if he felt grateful or not for it when Jon walked in with bags on his hands and a sad, scared look in his eyes as he saw Robb there before he walked straight into the kitchen without muttering a single word.

 

It was strange, sitting around a table next to his parents, with Jon on the other side of the table, not knowing which of them was trying to avoid the other’s eyes the hardest. All the while his grandparents and siblings remained blissfully unaware of the havoc that went on right under their noses. Robb felt at loss with the knowledge he was at the center of it, the disappointment he’d caused, the one he would yet cause.

He laughed at the jokes and answered all the questions, smiling and drinking more than he should, ignoring the pointed look he got from his mother for it as he pretended everything was fine in hope that just for a little while it would work.

Then he met Jon’s eyes, for just a second but it was enough to make it all come crashing down on him. His smiled died and he set his cup down, feeling his father’s eyes on him as he lowered himself on his chair, wishing to disappear.

That was unlike him, but he didn’t find it in himself to mind as he spent the rest of the dinner staring at his plate and mulling over how he got himself there. Knowing that as much trouble as it caused he could still feel it in himself that same desire, that same need and affection that had made grasp Jon’s hand in the cold, kiss his wine stained lips and lead them down this path.

As he got up his chair made that terrible scratching sound while it was dragged across the floor, Robb ignored the looks he got and excused himself before walking out into the night. The dim light on the front porch doing a poor job of illuminating the yard now that it was fully dark. The wood of the handrail was cold against his fingers when he touched it.

He had only been there once before, it was warm then, and Jon made it all the warmer. He could remember the kisses he placed on his lips at that every same place, the sweat on the back of his neck as he lead Robb to his room, the taste of it as Robb kissed his skin.

Robb gripped the rail, willing himself away from the memories, the moments they shared. He knew it was over. It had to be.

The cold breeze made him wish he had thought of getting a coat before walking into the night. He looked back inside, not unaware of the attention he brought onto himself, the drama he’d started. He couldn’t bring himself to stay there and pretend, not when Jon looked at him like that, hurt and confused. Christmas spirit be damned.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard the door opening, the sound of Jon’s footsteps as he walked until he was standing next to Robb, his gaze, like Robb’s, unmoving from the darkness ahead of them.

“Here.” Jon said after a few seconds, handing him his crumbled jacket.

“Thank you.” Robb muttered, looking down as he wore it.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls,” Jon said after a few seconds, his voice flat. “Or my texts.”

“I—” Robb started, trying to explain something he couldn’t justify even to himself.

“I know why.” Jon interrupted him, looking at him even as Robb kept his gaze on the rail. “I just wish you’d given me a chance to change your mind.”

Robb looked up. “Jon… I didn’t—” he didn’t finish. He didn’t what? Know what to do? Know that he’d be a coward after all? Jon didn’t need to hear that.

“So you’re not… doing this,” He motioned around them, “because you’re breaking up with me?”

Robb looked away again.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, the words fighting on their way out. Speaking never had been this difficult to him, not before all this, before his parents sat in front of him with hurt accusing eyes as they asked—demanded—explanations.

He swallowed the bile rising up in his throat and looked Jon in the eyes.

“I don’t know.” Jon admitted, a pained smile tugging at his lips. “I guess, I hoped we could make it out of this one.”

Robb did too, so badly, but he can’t see how. Or rather, he’s too afraid of the cost it’d take, on Jon, on him, on their family.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” Robb, said, chest hurting with the truth of it. “For not answering you, for… everything.”

“Are you?” Jon asked. “Sorry for everything?” His eyes trailed Robb’s face.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, voice softer.

It was Robb’s turn to smile without smiling. “You know I don’t.”

Jon nodded, his hand moving until his fingers touched Robb’s, as if it was the first time they’d ever touched. Robb grasped at his hand, holding it on his own, hoping for warmth but only finding cold fingers, like his.

“We could do it, you know.” Jon whispered, for a second it was like they were back in that night, sitting in the curb, Jon just within his grasp. How brave he had been then, to reach for all that he desired. Brave, and foolish.

“We could.” He agreed, finally. It was too late, he knew, both of them knew they wouldn’t.

“I… understand.” Jon said, and Robb hated himself for doing this to him. He could see it eating him up already, how Jon would feel like it was his fault when it was Robb’s. It was him too afraid to fight for them.

“I love you.” He admitted, Jon deserved that much. The words felt right on his lips, easy as breathing coming out, but heavy as a brick as they hit Jon.

“Don’t do this to me.” Jon said, his voice low, begging. Robb held his face between his hands, foreheads touching as their noses collided together.

“I’m sorry.” Robb muttered. And then repeated it, again and again against the stubble on Jon’s cheek. Jon’s put his hand on his hair, and his lips moved searching for Robb’s, begging him to stay or saying goodbye. He couldn’t tell.

The door opened, his mother sliding outside and staying there, silent as Jon let his breath out, lingering into Robb’s touch as he looked at the floor for a second before he moved away, past her and into the house. He never looked back.

Robb didn’t look at his mom as he walked back into the house.

 

The next morning his grandfather stood next to him outside as the kids sat on the floor next to the tree on the living room opening their gifts. He had his arm around Robb’s shoulder as he slid something into his hand, keeping his eyes ahead as if it was a secret.

Robb opened his hand to look at it, the light of the morning sun reflecting on the metal of a set of car keys. He turned his gaze to his grandfather, who grinned back at him. “Your parents only let me pay for half of it, so you’ll have to deal with the rest…” He explained. “It’s not new, mind you, but it’s a fine piece.”

“I—Thank you.” Robb said, surprised by both the gift and the real smile it caused on him.

He looked back at the house, catching Jon where he sat next to his mother on the wooden bench in the porch, drinking his morning coffee. Their eyes met his and Jon smiled at him. A small, tentative thing that broke Robb’s heart, but also made him grateful. At least he’d still get to see his face, that wasn’t something they could take away.

He looked back at his hand and resisted the urge to ask what he had given to Jon as his grandfather patted him on the shoulder.

“Are you well?” Robb heard him ask, could see a frown forming on his face.

“Yeah.” Robb answered, automatically, a smile on his lips as he closed his hands around the keys. His grandfather watched him, seeming proud of him in that way of his. This time it didn’t make him happy or glad or even relieved though, not any of the things it used to; Robb felt only the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaay, a few notes. First, Rickard was not meant to be such a dick but what can you do.  
> Second, I hope no one takes this as Catelyn bashing, I love her character, whatever flaws and mistakes she's made are part of what makes ASOIAF and the Starks so compelling, and even though this is an au she still has her reasons to act the way she does (as does Ned).  
> Third, I didn't make it explicit but the boy Jon hugs is Sam, but if you prefer to think of someone else (cough, Satin) I'm cool with it.  
> This is it for now, let me know what you guys think, and things do get better in chapter three (sorta).


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had taken Jon some time to decide whether he should go to the Christmas party this year. Thoughts of Robb and his aunt’s cold gaze haunting him, he had almost decided not to go when a phone call from his grandma changed his mind. “You haven’t come the last few years.” She reminded him, not accusingly, but it still made Jon feel bad, dnd she didn’t even know why he'd started missing every family gathering he could afford to.
> 
> In the end he decided it would be better to face it than to come up with some bullshit excuse Lyarra would see right through. He also thought it was best if he didn’t examine the way he felt when he thought about seeing Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only slightly weird to finish a christmas fic as January ends, and that's because for once I finished one. That said, I'm sorry for the wait, but this chapter got away from me (a lot), hopefully it'll be worth the wait.  
> Just one more thing before you go read it, this chapter is quite longer than the other two and probably heavier too. I've updated the tags so if you want to know what's waiting for you check them.  
> Also I wrote an interlude set between chapter two and this one explaining some of what happened during the time jump. you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567757). Since it explains what happened, it has some of the revelations from this chapter. It's not terribly important so feel free to skip it if you'd rather not be spoiled.

* * *

_When we were alone in your old room and you told me it wasn’t too late_

* * *

The old red Camaro he was driving had belonged to his mother before she gave it to him on his birthday a few years ago. He knew how much she loved that car, having gotten it at nineteen against his grandfather’s wishes and paid for it while working overtime in a store a few streets down her parents house. It had been a surprise when she decided to gift it to him and, years later, he was still nervous driving it, afraid of what would happen if any harm came to his mother’s beloved car.

It had taken Jon some time to decide whether he should go to the Christmas party this year. Thoughts of Robb and his aunt’s cold gaze haunting him, he had almost decided not to go when a phone call from his grandma changed his mind. “You haven’t come the last few years.” She reminded him, not accusingly, but it still made Jon feel bad, dnd she didn’t even know why he'd started missing every family gathering he could afford to.

In the end he decided it would be better to face it than to come up with some bullshit excuse Lyarra would see right through. He also thought it was best if he didn’t examine the way he felt when he thought about seeing Robb.

Would he still feel sad and hollow or angry and frustrated? He could never tell, but it always left him miserable and ready to hide himself. He wondered how long it’d take for him to want to flee back to his room at the little apartment he shared with Sam and Satin.

Jon parked the car in the driveway, letting the engine die as he watched the house he had grown so unfamiliar with in the last few years, from the carefully trimmed grass that would soon be covered by snow to the stones marking the path towards the front door.

He could picture Robb inside—could remember the times they had been there together, and it kept him frozen in place for another second or two before he shook it off and walked out of the car.

He had come a bit early this year, maybe as a way to make up for the times he hadn’t showed up, his mother wouldn’t arrive until that afternoon, which meant that he would have to face whatever waited for him inside alone. Jon had never felt quite that combination of anxiety, longing and dread as when he knocked on the door and waited for the answer.

He felt relieved when his uncle answered, he stepped aside to let Jon in with a smile. Ned pulled Jon into a hug and it made something in him break. He hadn’t been expecting it, and knowing _why_ it took him by surprise made Jon freeze, hugging his uncle back a second too late, and making him painfully aware of how much more awkward his reaction made the whole thing.

“Good to see you, son.” He said.

“You too, uncle.” Jon said, letting go of the hug.

“I’m making us lunch,” He said. “The others are in the backyard. Arya will be happy to see you.”

Jon nodded. “Tell me if you need any help.”

Ned shooed him away, going back into the spotless kitchen. Jon allowed himself a second to take everything in. The living room was spacious and warm, with a TV set and two grey worn down couches next to the door that led to the kitchen, shelves with pictures of the kids and various family gatherings filled the walls. Another door led to the corridor that gave into a small bathroom and what once had been an office but had since become Bran’s room after the accident. Upstairs, there were the girl’s rooms, his uncle’s, Robb’s and what used to be the room Bran shared with Rickon, as well a bigger bathroom.

Except for a few details here and there—a small crack in the wall, the fading paper wall he remembered as being new—not much had changed, and to avoid the memories that sprung to his mind Jon walked past his uncle in the kitchen and into the backyard.

As he walked to them, Arya looked up from where she was sitting in the little gazebo Ned built when he and Robb were eleven. Jon could still remember the caps on their heads as they “helped” him.

Sansa, who was sitting at her side, has book on her lap and her phone close at her side looks up as well as Lyarra and Catelyn kept talking. He could hear Bran and Rickon off somewhere further along the backyard, laughing.

Arya got up, a toothy grin on her lips while she runs toward him.

“You big, dumb, _asshole_.” She said, whispering the last part into his shoulder as she hugged him, landing a slap in his arm when he let her go, “don’t fucking disappear like this.”

“I didn’t.” Jon said, rubbing the skin where she hit him.

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Oh, let me look at you,” Lyarra said, getting up as well, smile so bright Jon felt ashamed. “Your hair’s so big.” She commented, pressing a kiss into his cheek. Jon hugged her and nodded as she asked if he’d been eating well, if he was doing alright, and all the other questions she probably wouldn’t have to ask if he hadn’t skipped so many gatherings.

“I’m glad you could make it.” She said finally, sitting back down on the bench she and Catelyn were sharing, Jon managed to get out a polite ‘hi’ to which Catelyn replied with the same enthusiasm before excusing herself to go after the boys, Jon didn't try to hide his relief.

Sansa got up as well, and hugged him while still holding her book. “It’s good to see you Jon.”

Jon smiled. “You too.” He said, and then, because he wasn’t there when it happened he adds, “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thank you.” Sansa smiled back. “You’ll be at the wedding, right?”

Jon looked down, he wondered if she would feel better or worse if he explained why he was so absent in the last few years, he wondered if it mattered… if it’s even a good excuse anymore. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He said instead, looking back at her, the answer seemingly satisfying for her.

“Robb is going to be so happy when he sees you.” Sansa said, and she smiled like she meant it. Jon forced a smile of his own.

“H-how’s he doing?” He asked, sitting on the wooden bench.

“Well…” Sansa started, looking down. Jon managed to catch his grandma’s sideway glance at them before she looked away again.

“Not good.” Arya says at the same time Sansa said, “You’d better ask him.”

“What’s going on?” He asked, already feeling worried, it’s not like he’s been _that_ distant but… he’s not quite sure what’s going on with Robb anymore. He knows that he’s finished uni a couple of years ago, like Jon, got engaged a year later, unlike Jon, and moved away with her. His mother being his main source of information on Robb, and everyone else, but she hadn’t been that well informed lately either.

“He was fired, like a week ago.” Arya said, ignoring Sansa’s poignant look at her.

“Oh.” Jon said. Robb had always been the best at what he did, giving everything his all and managing to exceed even their high expectations—a bigger overachiever than Sansa and Jon combined. It felt a little weird to hear he’d been fired.

“But he’s doing okay? Right?” He asked. “What about his fiancée?”

“Jeyne?” Sansa asked after a second, like she hadn’t been expecting the question. “They broke it off, months ago. Haven’t you heard?”

Jon shakes his head.

“I don’t know why he even got with her.” Arya commented.

“She’s a nice girl.” Sansa told her, sounding like she’d had this conversation before. “I heard she was quite heartbroken after it.”

“Well, people shouldn’t rush into engagements.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sansa asked, Arya just shrugs.

“What’s going on with you though?” Sansa asked apparently deciding not to give in to Arya’s quips.

“Nothing that exciting.” He said scratching his beard. “Just work, and stuff.”

“Stuff.” Arya repeated. “Nice.”

Jon snorts. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No girlfriends, then?” Lyarra asked, her tone teasing.

“Uh, no,” Jon replied, surprisingly embarrassed by the question.

“Are you sure?” Sansa joins in.

“Quite.” He let out a laugh.

“What about boyfriends?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow.

And then he blushed. “Still no.” He answered, both grateful and worried with her addition, he didn’t feel brave enough to look at his grandma as his answer settled in.

“What about that Ygritte girl?” Sansa said, still ignoring Arya. “I thought you were dating.”

“Kind of.” Jon replied. Not bothering to say more, Sansa gets the clue.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon, sweetheart.” Lyarra added, going over the pages of some magazine.

“I’m not really looking. Too busy.” Jon told her in the hopes it would settle the subject. She spared him a mindful glance before humming to her magazine.

 

When he went back to his car to get the gifts he bought—both his and his mother’s, she had been quite adamant that he should pay back for all the gifts she gave on his behalf—he saw Rickard approaching, riding a bike. the last time Jon had seen him he was in the hospital, far less healthy than he looked now, Jon thought it’d be the last time he’d see him then—everyone had—but he pulled through.

“Jon,” He said as he got down from the bike. “You finally decided to come.”

“Nice to see you, gramps.” Jon replied.

“Is your mother here?” He asked as he helped Jon with some of his bags after leaving the bike in the garage.

“Not yet.” Jon replied. Rickard kept making small talk as they walked inside the house, and Jon excused himself to put the gifts on Bran’s old room when he started to talk about great-grandchildren.

He was fairly sure his grandfather didn’t actually expect any grandchildren from him.

 

 

A few hours later Jon was back at the gazebo with Arya, sitting on the floor with her legs on top of his as they talked about all the shows they could marathon that week. It felt like a taste of normalcy he had denied himself for too long, like the memories he thought he’d never get to relive.

Robb found them like that, Arya laughing as he tried to explain his distaste for Breaking Bad, which she loved. Jon stopped talking when he arrived, face frozen in what could be, maybe, interpreted as a smile.

“Hi.” Jon said finally, the words taking more effort than they should to come out.

“Hi.” Robb repeated, shifting on his toes. Jon took in his appearance, his hair was unkempt but it looked like he had tried to smooth it on his way in, his stubble seemed to be growing carelessly and his clothes looked a size too big because he had lost some weight, Jon realized.

He looked very much unlike the Robb he remembered and still… Jon wanted nothing more than to bury his head on his neck and hold him there for as long as possible. “You… came.”

“Yeah.” Jon muttered, not wanting to stay silent but not knowing what else to say. Arya watched them carefully.

He hadn’t expected this. He had expected Robb to look spotless, as he did, a ring on his finger and a beautiful lady on his arm, not… this. He had expected anger or tears or _something_ … not this cold, empty, numbness growing inside of him.

Jon still wasn’t sure how something could shake him that much and feel so underwhelming at the same time.

He wondered what had happened to Robb while he wasn’t looking.

“I—” Robb started, but Jon never got to hear the end of it as Theon Greyjoy sauntered outside.

“Man, your grandfather is the best, he—” He paused, looking at the three of them, his smile faltering, “wants to talk with you.”

Robb nodded, lingering where he stood, his eyes never leaving Jon. “I’ll see you guys later,” He said, patting Arya on the shoulder before walking inside.

“That went well.” Arya said, watching as Jon slouched on the bench, not at all interested in discussing TV shows anymore.

 

When he decided to come he wasn’t expecting to look at the Robb standing in front of him now—pale and thin, hair only slightly better than earlier when he first saw him, looking sick and tired and _sad_ —he expected the Robb he remembered, bright and full of life, even if he expected some sadness too.

Part of him felt self-centered guilt, thinking this was about them, the other part told him he had lost his fiancée and his job, of course he wouldn’t be at his best.

He remembered the days after Robb “broke up” with him. The days while Robb was still in his house, always close but so far away, ever under the watchful gaze of his aunt, and then gone. Really gone. Jon had feared they would never be the same then, that as Robb left his house he was leaving his life too.

He hadn’t known how right he was then.

Catelyn, Jon had noticed, was too busy looking worriedly at Robb to willfully ignore or glare at him. He had never thought he’d miss that.

Theon was at Robb’s side, seemingly never abandoning his post after their encounter that afternoon. His uncle had managed to keep conversation going with Rickard, telling him Benjen would arrive in a few days as well, all the while Rickard frowned deeply at Robb’s state.

Robb himself seemed unaware of it, of any of it, instead he ate quietly and stared straight ahead, not talking unless talked to. Jon exchanged looks with his mother, hoping she could offer him some sort of explanation for all of this, but she wouldn’t even meet his eyes. Jon sighed and stared at his food.

 

Robb and him didn’t talk, not that night, and not in the next morning as Jon filled his cup with coffee in the kitchen while Robb searched the fridge for something to eat. There was a long silence, begging to be filled with something but before either of them could try Rickard sauntered into the room, smiling and wishing both of them good morning.

Jon fleed outside, watching through the glass on the door as Robb did the same.

His mother and Arya were sitting on the grass, Jon took sips of his coffee as he walked to them and sat down, not even bothering to wish them good morning as he looked up at the grey sky. The temperature had been dropping in the last few days, there was a good chance it’ll snow until Christmas. Jon tried not to linger on the many memories Robb and snow brought to mind and instead focused on how cold he was going to be.

 

His mother brought it up as Arya leaves them for the comfort of her room.

“Robb’s having a hard time.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jon said, matching her casual tone, like they were discussing something oh so ordinary and keeping his eyes on the sky. He drank more coffee as their words settled and silence followed.

“Have you two talked?” She asked.

She knew they hadn’t, she must have. “No.” he said.

“Don’t you think you should?”

Jon took another sip, didn’t answer.

She sighed, fingers tracing her ankle as she looked at him. “When… when your aunt called me, what she told me…” she starts, “I knew it.”

Jon isn’t surprised by that, he and his mother had avoided the subject long enough for him to go over everything she told him that night and later. To the way she’d talk about Robb afterwards.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought—well you were just boys, I thought it was nothing,” She kept saying, “you know I don’t care, if you like boys or girls or both. I just didn’t think you and Robb were anything more than boys experimenting.”

Jon cringed. Wondered if he could get away with the excuse his coffee’s gone cold.

“It’s clear to me now that you weren’t.” Lyanna adds, “and I think, that night, when you looked so heartbroken after they left… I realized just how much he meant to you, and I thought—I thought it would break you, both of you, if this was how things ended. He’s been a… very important part of your life since you were little.”

She sighed again, touching his shoulder gently. “What I mean is, it would be a waste if how things ended is how it _ends_. You two care too much about each other to leave it at that.”

“I-I’m not sure we can do anything about it.” Jon said.

Lyanna nodded, hand moving to caress his cheek, Jon felt like a little kid as he moved towards her, her arms wrapping around him while he hid his face on her shoulder.

“I never wanted you to lose him. I don’t think any of us did.” She muttered against his hair.

“I can’t help him, mom,” Jon admitted. “He… I’m not sure he’d want me to.”

“I understand, but…” She stops, pulls a strand of hair from his face. “I know you still care, he still cares, too. It’s up to you now.”

Jon looked at the house, to where he knew Robb room is. He felt so old looking at it now, so tired. Up to him… Jon didn't want that responsibility.

He didn’t want to face the hurt and the anger, he didn’t want to have to lay it all out and dig up all of the things he’d just barely buried. Didn’t want to tear his family apart—and Robb in the process—didn’t want to feel like he had felt for every day in the last four years any longer, didn’t want to know what had been hurting Robb like that. But… more than that, he didn’t want to keep living like he is. Didn’t want to go on missing the person he had thought would always be there. He wanted Robb back.

He looked at his mother and she stared back at him like he’s about to break down crying on her arms, and he thought he must’ve looked like it. He wished then he could tell her all the things he feels, all the things he’s felt, all the secrets he kept for so long, all the things she guessed but never heard.

“I miss him so much.” He said instead, and that must’ve done it, because she held him again, hiding whatever tears he might’ve spilled as Sansa walked into the yard.

 

Robb lied in bed, he’d been in bed for quite a while now, too tired to pretend to know how long, too distracted staring at the blank ceiling to know if he dozed off or not. He doubted he did, he was lucky to get three hours a night those days.

He heard the sound of a car parking in the driveway—wondered if he’d have noticed were it not the same sound he remembered from his childhood, when his aunt came to visit, when Jon would climb the stairs to his room like he belonged.

Seeing Jon again hadn’t been the punch he expected, rather, it had felt like the twisting of a knife driven deep inside him for so long he forgot it was there in the first place. It felt like losing him all over again.

He hadn’t expected to see him there. Didn’t believe his ears when he heard that familiar voice, heart pounding on his chest as he walked outside and Jon—Jon looked even better than he remembered. The long black hair he had always loved, had even envied for a while, the way it framed his face, those eyes—so very easy to read once you spent as much time as he did looking into them—the lips he still had dreams about, the beard he had finally managed to grow.

Jon looked like all those years away from Robb had actually done him good. And Robb… Robb looked about as good as he felt. He wanted to shrink into himself, he wished he’d never gotten up from his couch and into the stupid car.

He had tried to avoid Jon ever since. It was the least he could do, after everything he’d done. After all those years.

Robb felt his face getting wet with tears he hadn’t meant to spill and dried them with the back of his hand. It was one thing to curl into himself on his childhood bed, it was another to cry while doing it—cry over something he was single handedly responsible for.

Jon had been right, leaving that behind, finding his way after Robb. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see him so… well.

It was sick to think it, but he had hoped to see Jon at least a little miserable when they met again. How stupid and cruel of him, to expect Jon to still be miserable over them years after he walked away and broke his heart. Like he was.

Part of Robb made a disgruntled noise in his head, self-pity was never a good look on anyone, he was sure his grandfather had told him that once. He had to agree, only he couldn’t do much, not now, not the way things were at the moment. He couldn’t stomach the thought of another dinner with the family, of sitting around a tree and pretending to be happy, of seeing Jon actually being happy.

The door opened, letting in some light into the dark room, Robb couldn’t be bothered with the effort to grunt or to tell whoever opened it to leave him alone. He just lied there as the bed shifted with the added weight, he closed his eyes, knowing Jon by the way he walked, the way his presence filled the room, the faint smell of his cologne. He would know him by his warmth alone.

“Hi.” Jon said. There was the hint of a smile on his face, a sad one, Robb thought.

He thought of Jeyne, leaving that night. _You_ lied _to me, you let me think—God you don’t even want to admit it to yourself, do you?_ She had told him before storming out, tears on her cheeks.

He had made a habit out of breaking hearts.

“Hey.” Robb replied, mouthing the words like they were in another tongue, one he used to speak a lifetime ago.

“Your room’s still the same,” Jon muttered, almost like he hadn’t meant to, Robb followed his gaze to a Star Wars poster hanging on the wall on top of the old desk filled with old textbooks he hadn’t touched in years. The same desk he had pushed Robb against before sucking his cock for the first time.

“Yeah.”

Jon’s was holding his own hand over his lap, like a scared kid, Robb thought he’d be scared too if he was feeling much of anything.

“What happened to us, Stark?” Jon asked, his voice breaking.

“I did.” Robb replied, his voice flat.

Jon had looked at him then, eyes dark, a kind expression on his face. Robb couldn’t bear that look.

“What happened to you?” Jon repeated.

Robb didn’t answer right away, breathing in loudly in the silent room. “I did.” Jon kept watching him.

“I-I heard you broke off your engagement.”  Jon sounded just a little discouraged at carrying the whole conversation, if it could even be called that.

Robb shook his head. “She did.”

“Oh.” Jon muttered, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“She loved me.” He said, not for Jon, not for himself either, he wasn’t sure why it needed saying.

“And you?”

 _You_. Robb thought, but didn’t say. He thought he loved her, or he thought he could love her. He wasn’t sure anymore. He knew it was the right thing to do. Maybe that’s what he loved. He shrugged as an answer, his head feeling numb.

Jon licked his lips, staring ahead, at the table maybe. “You’re not well.”

Robb shook his head.

“Are you… are you taking care of yourself?”

Robb snorted. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You know I—I never don’t worry about you,” Jon said.

“Why are you here?” Robb asked.

“To talk.” Jon said, like that was all. Maybe it was.

“You shouldn’t.” Robb said, sniffing, “I’ve fucked everything, you don’t have to do this.”

“Robb—”

“No, I just… I started it and ended it, and it makes sense that I’d pay the price.” Robb said, for both of them. “Just—please, I don’t want to make this any worse. You should leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Jon said, stubborn as always.

“I’m going to hurt you again.” Robb said.

“I can take it.” He thought Jon was trying to be funny.

“You should hate me.” Robb told him. “You should scream and curse me and tell everyone. Why don’t you?”

Jon looked at him, frowning as he took in Robb’s words, mouth shaping around words that never left his mouth.

“I think the world of you, Robb,” Jon said, “have you forgotten that?”

“Maybe I never knew.” Robb said, watched as Jon shook his head, curls falling over his forehead. He wondered what’d it take to make him hurt, to make him regret coming here. Hates himself for thinking it.

“I never…” Jon stops himself, “never meant to let this get between us like this, I guess I had my own pride to savage after…” he didn’t finish, took a breath.

“I should’ve reached out, instead of waiting for you to do it—for grandma to call,” Jon sighed, “but I’m here now, and I want… I want to see you well. So you tell me, how do we get there, if you want me to help, that is.”

Jon seems resigned to stay there, waiting for an answer, and Robb wants to scream. It should be him at his knees begging for a chance to savage whatever he could of their relationship. It was his fault everything was fucked, Jon should be running away as fast as he could because… Robb wanted desperately to reach for his hand and drag him down again.

He shifted on the bed, moving until he’s facing the wall and ignoring Jon until eventually he gave up and walked out leaving the door open as he goes.

 

 

It was night when Robb made his way outside. A blanket wrapped around him as he sat down on the wooden bench in the gazebo. Jon was already there. Face blank as Robb found a comfortable way to hug himself all wrapped up as he was.

He wondered if he looks ridiculous, and then decided it didn't matter because Jon had seen him even worse.

Jon had been drinking tea and staring at something on his phone when he arrived, but he put it away as Robb settles next to him and blew at his cup, Robb watched as the steam rose into the cold night air. Breathed in. “I’m sorry.” He said.

Jon braces himself, “I know.”

They stayed there, sitting right next to each other in the cold. They didn’t speak again, the soft breeze of the wind ruffling their hair as Jon finished his tea. When he did he left the cup at their feet, watched Robb as he closed his eyes and drifted away.

 

When Robb opened his eyes again his mother was watching them through the kitchen window. She meet his gaze for a second before looking down at the sink. Robb lets out a breath, Jon is still looking at him. Robb tries for a smile.

They stay there.

 

Jon woke up still warm from his dream before the cold morning caught up with him. He heard Rickon’s delighted laughter and knew, before getting up, that it was snowing outside.

His mind went to Robb, as it does, and he wondered if he managed to get any more sleep last night. The circles under his eye too deep not to be worrying, and Jon didn’t think falling asleep like he had last night had been a good sign.

He rolled out of bed, shooting a look at Benjen, fast asleep on a mattress in the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand, he had a vague memory of waking up at dawn with his uncle stumbling into the room and dropping himself on the mattress without a second thought.

As he crossed Arya’s room he heard giggles, Sansa and his mom, he thought, Arya wouldn’t have been up that early. The three of them had been more or less forced to share her room, what with their grandparents on Sansa’s (the bed was bigger) and Theon crashing on Robb’s.

Jon paused as he crossed Robb’s room, wondering if he should knock when Theon walked out of the bathroom. He stared at Jon, who stared back.

“He’s not there.” Theon said. “Couldn’t get any sleep.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Jon asked. Not sure why he even tried.

Theon snorted. “You’re a smart guy, figure it out. Or ask him.”

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, walking into the bathroom instead, they were not at high school anymore.

“Not like you can’t get him to do anything you ask.” He hears Theon add, not imagining the bitterness on his tone.

 

He found Robb laying on one of the couches, staring blankly at the screen where the current version of spider-man was swinging from buildings in Manhattan. On the other couch Rickard stared curiously at the television, as though wondering why they’d call that entertainment.

Robb looked over at him as he approaches, shifted a little, making enough space for Jon to sit down. Jon takes it as progress.

“Morning,” Robb mutters.

 

It went like this. Jon did chores around the house, helped Lyarra and Rickard, spent time with Arya, listened to Rickon as he talks about his plans for next year and shared stories about his time at uni with Bran. Robb would find him, sometimes with the others, sometimes alone, and stay there in silence, sometimes he’d be almost like Jon remembers him, joking and talking as if nothing happened, other times it was like he was barely there.

When he didn’t find Jon first, Jon looked for him. They spend a lot of time like that.

The silence never felt too heavy, despite Jon’s fears, and then, just as it gets familiar Robb started filling it.

 

“I didn’t love her.” Robb said.

“Oh.” Jon answered, watching as Rickon threw a snowball at Arya.

 

“She knew about you.” He said later, as they put up the Christmas tree.

“Did you tell her?” Jon asked.

“She found out.”

He didn’t explain, and Jon never asked.

 

He did ask about his job.

“I got into an argument with my boss. Said some stupid shit.”

“Why?”

“He’s a dick.”

“Found a new one yet?”

“Didn’t really look.”

 

“That Ygritte girl…” Robb asked in return.

“Yes?”

“Are you two dating?”

“We did, for a while.”

“Do you love her?”

Jon looks at him, “I—”

“Robb,” Catelyn interrupted him, marching into the room, “can we talk?”

Robb looked at him, trying for a smile as he moved to follow his mother. Jon just watched him go.

 

It was the 24th when his uncle walked into his room. Jon hadn’t seen much of him after that first day, but they had made small talk during breakfast and at dinner, talked over coffee about Jon getting his master’s degree before moving on to the current state of journalism, a well-rehearsed rant from his mother’s.

Benjen was sensible enough to excuse himself as Ned greets them and sits down on the bed. Jon closes his laptop, imagining what’s it about.

“Catelyn talked to you?” He asked.

Ned smiles a little bit. “She is my wife,” he said, “we talk every day.”

Jon almost smiles too.

“You and Robb…”

“Nothing’s going on.” Jon said quickly.

“I see.”

The room goes quiet.

“Are you mad, at us?”

Jon was taken aback by the question and it took him a second to answer.

“I was.” Jon said. Thinking about his mother’s words, he can’t put the blame on them, not all of it, anyway. “Got tired of it.”

Ned seems sad but not surprised.

“Would you be so kind as to forgive me?” He asked.

“Do you regret it?” Jon asked. Ned lets out a laugh.

“You do ask tough questions, don’t you?” He said, taking a deep breath before he answers. “I’m not sure I did the right thing. Not sure I acted the right way even if it was.”

“I was trying to protect you, both of you,” he explains, “and I know it caused you pain, but I thought by now things would… have gone back to normal.”

“You thought it was just fun, that we’d cry a little and move on, right?” He asked, bitterness dripping from his tone.

“Something like that, yes.” Ned admitted. “It wasn’t, was it?”

Jon just looks at him. “You should ask Robb that.”

He’d never seen his uncle look ashamed before.

“I’m trying to help him.” Jon said, voice calmer now, “but I-I’m not sure I can.”

“I have talked to him.” Ned said, slowly. “We’ve been trying to get him to get help, but he’s... resisting.”

“He went to therapy.” Ned continued when Jon said nothing. “After you—we… after everything.”

“He didn’t tell me.” Jon said.

Ned just nodded, looking at the floor. “What I came here to say, is that you two mean a lot to each other,” he takes a deep breath, “and I don’t think either of you should go through all this because of, well, us,” he paused, “I hope you understand that whatever happened— _happens_ , we are your family.” He shushed Jon with a finger before he could respond.

“If you want Robb in your life half as much as he wants you in his, I think that after all this… whatever reservations any of us might have, whatever the nature of your relationship, it’s a small price to pay for your happiness.”

Ned stayed there for a while, nods to himself and gets up.

“Robb isn’t the only one to miss you.” He added, halfway out of the door. “Do you know that?”

“Now I do.” Jon said.

 

Robb was somewhat surprised to find out he didn't dread the thought of the celebrations, even with his mother’s dry questions and overstressed concerns, of which he only hadn’t heard more—he was sure—because she thought he was too depressed for that.

His father on the other hand had decided it was the perfect time to go over the last five years. Not just with Robb either, he had seen him walking out of the room Jon was sharing with uncle Benjen. And then with the whole family, talking about how proud he was of them, how much they’d grow.

At least, Robb tells himself, he asked no questions about the wedding that won’t be happening anymore. He had, of course, already exhausted himself explaining it, or trying to, to his mother and father, to Sansa when she got wind of it, to his grandfather who still refused to let it go, to his grandmother, to his friends. He did ask about his job, and Robb had to suffer through it.

What truly kept Robb going back to the conversation with his father though was what he said in the end. He had said, after a second or two of silent stares “we love you, Robb. no matter what”. Robb wasn’t sure the conversation they’d had warranted that, and had searched his father’s face for the reason for saying it, finding none. In the end he had just stayed there staring back at his father in silence until he went away.

Robb spent most of the morning laying in bed, watching as snow gathered outside his window, he heard the chatter around the house, the footsteps, Arya and Sansa arguing over something in the next room, Lyanna raising her voice to tell his grandmother something as she walked downstairs. He could hear Theon singing in the shower and his mother shouting something at Rickon from outside. He just listened as the house awakened and got more and more agitated, for some time he could pretend things were less complicated, less messy, like that morning was just a simple morning, like his life wasn’t falling to pieces, like it hadn’t been for quite a while now.

His heart quickened at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, stopping as they reached his door, he hated how easily he could pick out the sounds Jon made from the rest of the house, hated how easily it made him react.

Robb waited for a knock, but none came, instead he heard as a door unlocked and Theon muttered under his breath while Jon made his way downstairs.

“Morning.” Theon said with true cheer, already dressed for the day as he entered the room. Robb hummed a reply.

 

He wondered why he felt disappointed when Jon didn’t knock. Asked himself what he expected. What did _Jon_ expect.

Though Robb had gotten pretty well at lying to himself over the years, he hadn’t quite managed to blind himself to the truth that he loved Jon. Even after all this time, even when he tried to drown that feeling in whatever ways he could find, no girl or drink or the amount of time spent at work had managed to the trick. Not even the fumbling, shameful attempts he had made at being with other guys. He wasn’t oblivious to the hopes growing inbetween the bitterness, hard as he tried to keep them down.

Robb wasn’t sure what Jon intended, walking into his room and promising to be there for him, if he thought there was a chance yet that something—anything—could happen between them, if he still had the same feelings for Robb. If he had, as Robb feared, moved on, he certainly seemed to be handling it—and life—a lot better than Robb.

And yet, Robb couldn’t help but wonder, or maybe just hope, if this wasn’t them trailing the same path again, finding their way together for… more doom, most likely. Robb couldn’t tell himself that he didn’t wish for it. Being doomed with Jon right now sounded like heaven to him.

He sighed, feeling the soreness of a night not slept in his muscles as he got up. Reaching for a sweater as he looked outside. The snow that began falling slowly now covered the yard, fogging up the glass of the window as it melted, he looked at the old tree on the edge of the yard, branches reaching up as snow fell from them into the ground. Soon it’d be too cold and dangerous to go outside.

 

Jon was sitting on the ground on the corner of the living room, laughing at something Arya said while holding a mug between his hands. He looked at home, Robb noticed, far more than he felt. Theon, engaged in a conversation with Benjen and Lyanna, and Sansa, who explained for his grandfather how to do something on his phone for what sounded like the tenth time, occupied the couches.

Robb sat down next to Arya, with his back to the wall and eyes on Jon. They were discussing something about their respective flatmates, and though Robb had little to add he listened to them, letting the sound of their voices soothe him as he closed his eyes.

 

“Hey,” he felt a hand on his shoulder, “do you wanna get to bed?”

“Huh?” Robb asked, remembering slowly where he was as sleep stuck to him.

“You fell asleep.” Jon said, looking down at Robb like he had passed out instead.

“I’m fine.” He said, rubbing at his eyes as he got up.

Arya was gone. The room was far quieter now, with only them and Lyanna in the room, Robb wondered how long he had slept for.

“How much sleep are you even getting?” Jon asked.

Robb shrugged, rubbing his shoulder as he walked to the empty couch and dropped himself on it.

Lyanna and Jon traded looks, which Robb ignored, instead looking at where the kitchen door was open, his grandma cooking inside while his father and his mother talked and helped her. As he watched them he had the distinct sensation that he was the subject of their conversation, it was the same feeling he got a second before he looked back into the room to find Jon staring at him.

It was an odd day, the way they sat around, helping around whenever they were needed but mostly just laying back as though none of what happened had any significance. Jon could play with Arya and laugh with the others as they remembered stories from their childhood, could look at Robb and see the little smiles he’d give, the way he’d laugh sometimes, open and vulnerable, forgetting himself for a second. Could pretend it was only happiness that smile brought out in him.

Jon wondered if this is what it’d be like, if he never had known the taste of Robb’s lips, never felt his warmth. Would they meet every year like this? Just sit around and laugh retelling all of the things they used to do, just been a family. Would he still feel the sharp aftertaste of desire whenever his gaze lingered on Robb? Or would he have moved on had he resisted the urge to satisfy the ever growing need to be closer.

It made some sort of cruel sense that this is where they’d end up. No one could have everything, and it was foolish to be believe he could have this—mornings with their family, laughs and stories, hugs and pats on the back, just like it used to be—and Robb at the same time. There had to be a price, a price they paid, and now he wondered if it was ever worth it.

Robb looked at him, blue eyes drawing him in, like they always had, much older now than he remembered. Jon held his breath, caught in his gaze, unable to ignore the feeling rising in him, the feeling that urged him to hold Robb in his arms and promise to fix whatever was hurting him, the feeling, he knew, that could end them both.

He looked away, Arya had gotten up and started to dance at the rhythm of a hummed Christmas carol, and Jon, unable to resist the urge to laugh, held her hand and joined. Sansa giggled, fixing her dress before joining them.

They danced in circles around the room, Bran smiling from his chair, the usual sadness gone from his eyes as he moved his wheelchair after them, Rickon trailing after him.

Jon broke away from the little circle to offer Robb his hand, whose eyes went from his dancing siblings to Jon’s hand. “Come on,” Jon said, “dance with us.”

Robb with his hair messy from falling asleep on the floor, wearing loose sweatpants and an old t-shirt, looking every bit the mess he felt, took Jon’s hand. Fingers wrapping around his wrist, sliding down until their fingers gripped the other’s, Jon led him back to the others, dancing as he walked.

The others cheered as he joined them, dancing around him and laughing as though they were all still kids.

They made noise enough for Lyarra to come out of the kitchen, a curious look on her face as she met the sight in the room. She laughed as Sansa pulled her into the dance, sounding delighted as they kept up the improvised dancing. They stopped soon after that, laughing as Bran knocks the couch a few inches back with his chair.

Jon fell to the floor, watching as Robb returned to the couch, still smiling.

 

It got even colder that night. The house was alight with Christmas lights, the tree glinting in the living room as snow fell heavily outside, inside the house was warm and the smell of food filled its rooms, drawing the overflow of people from out the rooms and downstairs.

Jon put on his sweater, after realizing just one shirt was probably a bad idea. He walked out of the room, leaving Benjen to change his clothes after being the last one to shower, as he made his way to the stairs he was stopped short by Catelyn, waiting for him in the corridor.

“Can we talk?” She asked, voice strained.

Jon would’ve prefered if they didn’t, but he didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter. He nodded.

She lead him towards the room he had only a vague sense of having seen before, bigger than Robb’s, the bed carefully made, the dresser on the side of the room filled with pictures of the wedding and of the kids, some of which he remembers being taken. To his surprise, he finds one of him with Robb and his mother, when they were thirteen.

“You have... talked with Robb,” She said, slowly. Following his gaze to the picture.

“We haven—”

“That’s not why I called you here.” She interrupts him, walking to the dresser and looking outside the window, bracing herself as though it was open.

“You don’t want to talk about me and Robb?” He asked, somewhat doubtful.

“Robb means the world to me,” She said, not answering him, her fingers resting on a picture of him, alone sitting next to the tree in the backyard, looking all of five years old. “I always did my best to…” She closes her eyes and sighs, “he’s a sweet boy, my Robb, I always worried about him. About people who might find themselves tempted to use that against him.”

“You think I—used, Robb?” Jon asked.

“I am not completely sure, Jon, of what ever were you thinking when you two did what you did.” She said. “Robb never bothered to explain. And then it was over, why bring it up?”

“Is this really about me?” Jon asked.

She said nothing.

“What did you call me here for?” He didn't quite manages to keep his voice even. “To tell you that it was a mistake, that we were stupid teenagers? Do you want me to assure you that you did the right thing and that what’s happening now has nothing to do with it?”

“Don’t presume to know what I think.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Jon said. “I don’t know what you think, I don’t understand it at all. Just like you don’t understand what we had, never bothered to.”

She takes a deep breath, like she’s holding back.

“I did what I thought was best for him.”

“Was it?” Jon asked, “best for _him_?”

“You think I did it for me?” Catelyn asked, “You think I wanted to step in and tell my son, _remind_ him, why it was wrong to, to… with his _cousin_?”

Jon took a step back, holding his tongue on everything he wanted to say. Everything he thought she needed to hear. It was no use picking a fight with her, but oh how he wanted to ask if she was happy now, if she still thought she did the right thing.

Catelyn watched him, looking for a reaction. When she found none she takes a hand to her hair and breathes in slowly.

“You care for him.” She said. “That much was always clear. I’m not asking you to abandon him... Ned always thought of you as brothers.”

“Your presence… whatever it is, it’s been good for him,” She admits, “I’m not asking you to step away. I’m merely asking you to not make this worse than it already is, to not make him believe, in the state he is in, that there is a chance for you two out there. You _have_ to know better than that.”

Jon considers it for a second. “What if I don’t? What happens when he moves on, when he finds another guy?” He asked.

“What if he finds another girl?” Catelyn retorted.

Jon shook his head. “This will not go away with me. It won’t go away even if he does finds a girl, if he marries and has five babies. It won’t change who he is. Do you understand that?”

She nodded, slowly, almost as if she still wanted to disagree.

“Promise me you won’t give him hope,” Catelyn said, “here and now… away from everything and everyone, it’s going to be easy for him to believe. He can’t deal with any more disappointment.”

Jon looked straight ahead, finding it hard not to express how much he loathed having this conversation.

“I don’t know, that there is hope for us,” He said, “but I won’t… I’m trying to help him. I won’t do anything else.”

“That’s all I ask.” Catelyn said.

Jon turned to leave, slow steps in the cold room. He stops, turning his head back.

“Would you accept it?” Jon asked. “If he told you he found a man, not me, would you accept him?”

Catelyn shifted on her feet casting her eyes downward. “I was taught…” She stops, lost in her thoughts for a moment.

“I’m not sure he could be… happy, with a man, but I—I cannot fight him anymore,” She sighed, picking up the picture she was looking at earlier, “I just don’t want to see him suffer.”

Jon kept his gaze on her for another second before he walked away, leaving her alone with her own thoughts.

 

Surprisingly enough—or perhaps not at all—christmas dinner went on as though nothing was wrong, food being passed around as what sounded like ten different conversations went on at the same time, all the while Christmas music played softly on the radio in the kitchen sink. The snow pilling up outside only a slight nuisance, having put down Catelyn’s plan of serving dinner in the gazebo outside.

After dinner they lounged around the living room, sharing stories underneath the light of the tree. Jon hugged his mother, choosing to drink hot cocoa instead of the wine she was having as he heard Benjen retell her usual shenanigans growing up, Ned laughed, clearly enjoying the memory.

Lyanna kicked Benjen’s shin, making it her turn to tell a story about him, Jon’s grandparents were huddled together in one of the couches, smiling at them and at each other as they watched them and laughed at their tales, some of which they hadn’t yet heard.

Soon it was Sansa and Arya remembering little things from their childhood, retelling stories Jon hadn’t exactly forgotten but left slip to the back of his mind as time went on. And then some he simply could not forget.

He watched Robb, the way his gaze would get lost before returning to whoever was talking, drinking wine and laughing over his cup. His eyes met Jon, and he smiled softly, eyes cast downward before moving up again, Jon thought he could see the same longing he felt on Robb’s eyes.

Memories from earlier that day came to his mind, of Robb’s fingers grasping his, the smile tugging at his lips as he let Jon lead him into the circle. He held his breath, aware of the trap he was thinking himself into.

He had promised Robb’s mother he wouldn’t give him any false hopes, he never promised her he wouldn’t get them himself.

Robb managed to get away little past one am, excusing himself after downing the rest of his cup and stumbling on the way to his room.

He took off the sweater, getting rid of his pants as he looked for his sweatpants. He put them on quickly at the sound of the door opening.

Jon took deep, audible breath, standing still, as he decides between moving closer or running away.

Robb turned around. “Didn’t expect you to follow me.” He muttered.

“I—I didn’t, either.” Jon said, looking down as he remembered Catelyn’s words.

“Jon, I’m…” He cuts himself off before saying ‘sorry’, not able to do it, somehow feeling as though saying it would mean accepting they were over. He moved towards Jon, closing the gap between them slowly enough to know Jon could push him away if he wanted.

“I know.” Jon said, his back against the door.

Robb was close enough to feel his breath, close enough to feel the hot press of Jon’s body under all those layers. He dropped his head, letting their foreheads rest together and their breaths mingle as he reached for Jon’s hands.

“What are we doing, Robb?” Jon asked, breathless.

Robb shaked his head slightly, nose rubbing against Jon’s.

“It isn’t too late,” he said, almost sounding like he believes it, “we still can…”

Jon’s grip tightened around Robb’s hand, cold nose sliding up and down one of Robb’s cheek, unable to stop himself. Robb’s lips touched the corner of his mouth, stubble rubbing against his skin.

“I don’t expect you to still feel the same as you did…” Robb started again. “but we could. Just for tonight. Just one more time yeah? Lemme… let me fix it.”

There was something desperate about the way Robb said it, how he rubbed his lips on Jon’s, gripping harder at him, tugging at his clothes as though they could get any closer than they already are.

“ _Please_.” Robb had said, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick at Jon’s lip, chasing away the cold. He didn’t know… didn’t know if Jon loved him still, didn’t know if he fell for Ygritte, if they plan on getting back together. Didn’t know how many lovers he had, didn't know anything but the fact that Jon is still Jon… his Jon, that _he_ still feels the same, that he needs desperately to have this even if for a night, even if it all goes back shit in the morning. He needs it to go back to the way it was before he ruined it all. He needs Jon to forgive him. He needs…

Jon kisses him, Robb’s hands clutching at his shoulder, pulling him in deeper. Giving up air for the taste of his lips.

Jon gasped when he pulled away, Robb’s mouth sliding down to his neck, kissing and biting at the skin there, hard enough to leave marks. Jon groaned as Robb’s thigh rubbed against his crotch, as his hands reached for skin.

Robb didn't stop until Jon holds his hand in place by the wrist, breathing in heavily, blush high on his cheek, eyes dark and deep and a pained expression on his face. “We can’t.” He whispers, as though it hurts, as though it’s final. “I’m sorry.”

Robb pulled his wrists free, rubbed at the skin, though Jon never gripped them hard enough to hurt. If he had perhaps Robb would have something to prove it was real, that he had touched him. That Jon still wanted him.

“Okay.” He said. Though it wasn’t. Everything was as far from okay as it had always been.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said again. “I’m sorry.”

A minute later he was gone, and Robb was in bed, lying beneath his covers trying to fight the cold.

Theon stumbled into the room sometime later, turning the lights off he jumps into the mattress across of the room and laughs. “Night, Robb.”

Robb let the silence and darkness swallow the room, hoped, idly, that it swallowed him with it before turning to face the wall and wondering if the wine he drank would help him sleep that night.

 

Jon took his time in bed the next morning, lets the fight for who gets the bathroom first go on as he pretended to still be asleep, the taste of Robb’s wine sweetened lips lingering on his mind.

He touched the spot on his neck Robb surely left a mark on, wondering if he had any chance at covering it up before anyone saw it.

The spot, just under the place his beard starts to grow, was tender to the touch, made him hold his breath as he traced his finger around it.

“Did you want the bathroom, lad?” Benjen asked. Startling Jon.

He blinked down at his uncle. “N-no. You can go.”

Benjen nods, groaning as he got up.

 

Jon finally walked out after his mother knocked on the door. Managing to keep the hickey hidden beneath a scarf he had almost forgotten at the bottom of his bag.

The one time he saw Robb that day he refused to meet his eye, sitting very still until Jon walked out of the room.

It was everything Jon had feared would happen after they were over and still had to see each other. The silence, the shifting gazes, leaving the room as the other walked in. Only this time it was his fault.

He had walked after Robb, followed him into his room just to walk away, trembling with the memory of lips on his skin.

Jon didn’t have to spend more than a few seconds in his presence to notice he was even more miserable than when he first arrived. He wanted to talk to him, to tell him—he wasn’t sure, what he could tell Robb, wasn’t sure there was anything left to be done but accept that where Robb was concerned he was unable to make rational choices, just as unable as he was to help him without pulling them both deeper into the chaos they always seemed to cause.

He was convinced, like he had been when he received the phone call from his grandma, that coming had been a mistake. And as he sat on the couch, with his knees tucked under his chin, watching as Robb tried to decide whether to make his way back upstairs or sit down now that everyone had seen him, that if the snow melted even a little, he would drive back home without looking back.

 

 

The snow didn’t melt, if anything it threatened to get even worse and leave them all stranded.

The days were slow now that Christmas had passed and though the house was always full there was little to distract him from the fact that Robb seemed to barely leave the room and avoid Jon whenever he did.

He didn’t know how obvious it was, that they were avoiding each other, but the fact that Robb couldn’t stay in the same room as him for more than a few seconds started to raise some eyebrows. Like his uncle, when Robb left his half eaten sandwich on the kitchen sink and ran back to his room while Jon picked up a cup of coffee and pretended not to notice, Ned said nothing but his eyes scanned Jon carefully for a reaction. Whatever he found made him sigh.

He didn’t know if Ned had talked with his mother or if she caught onto it by herself, but she started to look at him pityingly, seeming to hold her tongue not to ask anything. Jon was thankful.

Catelyn, Jon realized, figured it out as she saw the fading bruise on the side of his neck, he had forgotten about it, remembering only when he felt her gaze landing on it. Taking his hand to it only gave it further away, he was sure. He looked down, picking up the book he’d been reading and going back to his room. Even Benjen seemed to realize something was going on, and if he did, it wasn’t long before their grandparents did.

Jon felt trapped in the house, waiting for everything to blow up in his face, wondering how much further down that would drag Robb.

 

It finally happened when Jon walked into the living room to find Robb, deep in conversation with Theon and their grandfather. He stopped talking the second he saw Jon, he hesitated, unsure if it would be better to run or pretend Robb didn’t have him frozen on his feet like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rickard looked at him, frowning. Jon nodded his way and walked upstairs. Looking back he found Robb quickly averting his gaze, head down as Theon carried the conversation.

He marched to his room, decided to end this, snow or no snow he had to get away. It was clear to him that while Robb still needed help he couldn’t be the one to give it to him; it was best if he simply left, he told himself.

 

The bag he had brought was already filled with his clothes when Robb opened the door. He stood there, taking it in.

“You don’t have to go because of me,” Robb said coldly.

“It’s best if I do.” Jon said.

“Look,” Robb started, as he took a step inside, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have…”

“I shouldn’t have followed you.” Jon interrupted him,  “You did nothing wrong.”

“Is that it then?” Robb asked, sounding like Jon spat on him. “You come and tell me you’ll be here for me. Makes me think that…” He snorts, “And then you go, just because I kissed you?”

Jon didn't have an answer for that.

“Don’t go.” Robb said, voice low. “You don’t have to. I—I understand things are not like they were. That I left you and fucked it all up. I’m not asking you to love me. Just don’t go.”

Before he could answer, to tell him that he didn't even had to ask, but that he couldn’t stay, Rickard found his way to the room, stood on the doorway, blocking the path with one arm on the wall.

“You’re both here. Good, I won’t have to drag any of you by the ear like the little boys you’re acting like.”

 

Jon would be lying if he said he didn’t wonder how his grandfather would react if he knew. He had given it quite a lot of thought. Of all the scenarios he came up with—his grandfather screaming and telling him what a shame he was to the family, telling Jon he corrupted Robb, being so ashamed of them both he refused to speak a word to either of them—none of it came even close to Rickard’s actual reaction. The blank expression he wore and the grave voice as he sat next to Jon’s makeshift luggage, looking down on them even as they stood above him.

Robb starts to say something, a torn look on his face. Rickard raised his hand to shush him and Robb lowered his eyes and bit into his lip. Jon tried to remain impassive, both surprised and not at all at Robb’s demure reaction.

“I don’t need you tripping over yourself trying to explain away as though I’m some old blind fool.” Rickard said, shaking his head in distaste. “Avoiding each other… worrying your grandmother, acting like you’re half Rickon’s age. Is this how my children raised you?”

Jon wetted his lips with his tongue and said nothing as he watched Robb’s face heat up.

“Nothing?” Rickard huffs. “Alright then, listen to me carefully now, you are Starks, and this is not how Starks act. You have a problem you deal with it. You make a mistake, you fix it, but you do not, under any circumstances, make a circus out of it and drag the rest of the family into your business.”

“I’m not done yet, Jon,” He snaps when Jon opens his mouth to speak. “You may think you are very subtle, very smart indeed, but there is very little you can hide from me for so long.”

Jon looked him in the eyes, remembers a summer they spent with him, those same grey eyes—Stark eyes, brighter than his, but just as deep—that he’d catch watching them once in a while, he can’t say he’s surprised he knows but he’s still startled by his words. Robb looked like he was fighting back tears, and Jon had to resist the urge to comfort him.

“Grandpa, we—”

“I don’t care, Robb,” He said, staring coldly at him before turning back to Jon, “I don’t mind whatever dirty secrets you keep. What you get up to when no one’s looking. What I care about is you two making me have to sit here and tell you to stop acting like children. What I care is both you dragging us all into it.”

“What you do in your private time is no matter for me, it would be matter to no one, had you two not acted like fools. You want to sneak around the house and have a shag, I don’t care, but don’t come crying like little girls and make a scene, I will _not_ tolerate _that_.”

“W-what?” Robb said, finally looking up again.

“Why do you think I never said anything?” Rickard asked. “Boys will be boys, isn’t that what they say?” He shaked his head. “No. I’m not going to sit here and forbid you, make it all the more appealing, but I will not let this become even more of an embarrassment.”

“You are both my grandsons, and I love you, but you two are grown men, past the age of petty arguments and these foolish games you seem to be playing. Deal with what is happening, quietly, and I promise no one’s going to care a bit about your conspicuous disappearances and obvious hickeys.” He shaked his head again.

The room is silent after that, Jon is not quite sure he isn’t in the middle of a weird, weird, dream.

“Can I trust you two, that you will resolve this in an orderly fashion?” Jon looked at Robb, who looked back, seeming just as taken aback as him. Robb nodded slowly and Jon followed.

“Good.” He leaves them with that, alone in the Bran and Rickon’s old room. Robb stared at the floor, swallowing around the lump in his throat;

They stayed like that for a few moments, breaths loud in the quietness of the room.

“Are—are you still going?” Robb broke the silence, Jon let the question linger in the air, watched Robb’s face as he slowly meets his gaze. He thought of his grandfather’s words, wondered what dirty secrets he keeps from them.

“I don’t think so, no.” He answered, eyeing the open bag. Robb nodded, a second later he was out of the room, leaving Jon cold and alone.

 

He wasn’t sure what, or how, but something’s changed in the air. Rickard might just have given them the go ahead they’d been waiting for, but it only made Jon want to pull away before it was too late.

Before he could start overthinking it the door to the room opens, Benjen smiled swiftly at him. “Everything ok?” He asked, like he knew far more than he was letting on. Jon imagined he did, if anything, his grandfather confirmed his suspicions that everyone knew more than they were letting on.

“Yeah.” Jon lied. He wondered if they would ever stop feigning obliviousness and say all the things that needed saying; for how much longer could they bury it all and pretend it wasn’t there.

“I believe your mother and your grandmother are looking for you.” He said, not without kindness.

Jon nodded, thanking him before sliding into the corridor. He didn't bother to hide the marks Robb left. There was no point in doing it anymore.

It was early in the morning still. Robb was is curled in bed with his laptop open, trying to keep up with a show he didn't care much about when he heard the knocks on the door. He eyed the air mattress on the floor, Theon’s laughter reaching all the way from downstairs.

He wondered if it was Jon, coming to… he wasn’t not sure why Jon would come to his room at this point. Wasn’t sure he’d want to know. Then he thought of his grandfather, wondered if he was done with the speeches. He fought back the shame at that thought.

“Come in.” He muttered, watching the door as it opened and his grandmother came in.

Lyarra sat on the edge of his bed, her eyes weighting heavily on him through the dim morning light coming from the window, her grey hair tied loosely on the back of her head as she held her own hands, as if willing herself to speak.

Robb swallowed around the lump in his throat, not wanting to sustain the look—too ashamed of all that brought them here—and yet not able to look away either, not when she kept it steady, firm, but warm, so warm he decided he didn’t like it. Would rather be left in the dark coldness of his own room, to linger on his misery for what was left of the year.

“I—I confess I do not know, exactly, what has been going on with you and Jon, or even in your life, really,” she smiled sadly, “you have all grown up and I feel like I’m not as well informed as I once was.”

“That’s not to say I was completely in, before, after all… well, I’m sure you’ve all managed to evade even your parents,” and with a smile she added, “Arya most of all, bless her.”

“I’m not completely oblivious, however, and I think one would have to be, not to have seen the way you look at your cousin.” She said it with the calm she seemed to have mastered over the years, the same one that could wan quickly and make you run scared, as Robb himself had discovered. “No. I am not your grandfather to shout and demand that you act like men. Nor have I ever been one of the people that refuse to see the truth standing in front of them. You are far from the first boys to love one another—far from the first cousins to be also lovers.”

Robb didn't know where she was going, but he wasn’t as eager to find out as one would think he was. Her tone wasn’t warm exactly, not cold certainly, not the grave preachy tone their grandfather had used on them, but it wasn’t warm.

“I had my doubts about you, both of you, I saw the nature of your relationship as that of brothers, always did, and it surprised me much when I saw you two pulling apart, saw Jon remove himself even further from this family.” She looked down at that, Robb could understand what she felt at this, the separation between Jon and the others, as imaginary as it was tangible at times.

“And then, this, you, the engagement, oh Robb how I worried,” Lyarra said, “you were always so bright, so smart and kind, your parents—they didn’t _worry_ about you, they always expected the best. Not me. You see, I was you,” she laughed bitterly at that, “that expectation, that necessity to always be at your best, for them, for yourself… I know how much it costs. I should’ve known this was coming.”

She let the words settle, rubbing his leg before she continued. “I’m so proud of you, of all the things you’ve accomplished. But you must know you mean more than that. You _must_. And I feel like I failed, like along the line I forgot to tell you that, I forgot to remind them you have the right to fail, to break, to be as messy as your siblings can be, to make a selfish choice if that is the path you chose, the one you believe will make you happy.”

She took a deep breath.

“Life is seldom kind, to anyone, Robb my dear. So when you find that thing that makes the world just a little bit brighter, that person that makes you just a little bit warm, even in the coldest, darkest days, you hold onto them with all you have and you tell the whole world and everyone on it that they can fuck themselves if they don’t like it. Because darling, this might be the one chance you have to make this all worth it, and you deserve better than a life of regret.”

Robb didn’t answer, unsure of what to say, wishing she could have told him all that years ago, before he ruined everything. Lyarra held his hand, placed a kiss on its back and gave him a small smile.

“I love you, always will.” She tells him. “I do hope that you find the help that you need.”

Before she left she kissed him again, on the forehead this time, like he’s still a child. He couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

 

 

“Can we talk?” He asked Jon later, while he sat on the living room couch with reading glasses on as he struggles to write something on his laptop.

Jon looked up, like he hadn’t realized he was there and nods. “Yeah, sure.” He moves so Robb can sit next to him.

“Actually, I thought—can we talk outside?” Jon hesitated, looked around as if someone would come out and accuse them of being improper before nodding.

“Let me just get this to my room.”

 

A few minutes later they were sitting on the wooden bench in the gazebo, their footprints visible in the snow, heavy coats wrapped around their shoulders. Robb’s hands shaking slightly as he stared ahead, breath heavy.

He had thought he knew what he wanted to tell Jon, now the words seemed to have completely escaped his grasp.

“So, everyone knows.” Jon said, voice cutting through the silence and the cold.

“Yeah.” Robb said.

“At least we don’t have to...” Jon never finished, letting his words die out as his warm breath goes up in the air.

“You never told me, about you.” Robb said. “How’s it been? All these years.”

It’s not what he intended to say, but maybe it should have been. He settled against the bench as Jon told him about college, living with his friends, the half time job he keeps and the graduate degree in anthropology he’s after. Jon talked about the future, and Robb had to look away.

Once they couldn’t see their future without the other. He could barely think of a future for himself now.

Jon stopped talking, moving his feet on the floor, Robb stayed quiet.

“I missed you. You know?” Jon said. “A lot.”

“I missed you too.”

“I hate it so much, how this—” he motioned towards Robb, then himself, “became normal. Not having you in my life, not… talking to you. And then I come here and—you’re like this…” He huffed. “Tell me it’s not my fault.”

Robb’s laugh was dry. Face twisting as he looked at Jon. “It’s not your fault, Jon. Trust me.”

“Your mother said. when you broke up with me…”

Robb shaked his head, wondered what his mother had been telling Jon about him. “It’s…” He stopped, letting out a breath, “when I left you, I was feeling a lot of things, and I was really confused. Mother took me to a therapist and it—it helped. But it wasn’t because of you, it’s more complicated than that.”

Jon’s gaze moves from the floor to him, “and now?”

“I quit my job.” Robb admitted with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t fired, I just couldn’t keep doing it.”

He breathes out, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Jeyne, she left me because I…” he smiled at that, what else could he do? “I wasn’t brave enough to do it myself. I lied to her, I thought I wasn’t lying, but I was. And then she left, told me…” He stopped. “I had to deal with the fact that all these years, I just couldn’t accept… I couldn’t lover her, I just… couldn’t. I can’t seem to love anyone but you, really,” he paused, a sick laugh escapes his throat, “especially not a girl.”

“I always felt like everyone has believed in me much more than I do, and people… my parents, expect _something_ from me, and I just—I’m letting people down, constantly, one way or another. I tried so hard to keep everyone happy, and satisfied and it—I can’t keep this up, Jon, I _can’t_.”

Jon nodded as a harsh wind blows past them shaking the naked branches of the tree behind the house and ruffling their hair. “I understand.” He said, and Robb thought maybe… maybe he did.

“I was diagnosed with depression.” He could remember how it felt, hearing it—good to have a name for it, horrible all the same. It was the first time he said it, like that, with all the words. He looked away before Jon could look at him the way his mother do, or worse, the way his father does.

“Your father… he told me you don’t want to look for help.” Jon said, after a while.

Robb said nothing, mouth set in a thin line.

“Are you taking any meds for it?”

“I did, for a while.” He said.

Jon looked at him and Robb kept his gaze down, shoulders low.

“Robb… why aren’t you looking for help?” He asked.

Robb shrugged and looked back at him, hated himself for loving the way Jon looked at him then; with worry written all over his face.

Jon’s hand touched his, softly, like Robb would run if he wasn’t careful.

Like he ever could.

“I can’t give you the help you need, Robb.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be here for you this time, though.” He said as he took Robb’s hand in his, laying a kiss against the skin of his palm, like he was making a vow. “That I can do.”

 

 

Robb stopped caring, a little bit, after that. He sat next to Jon and smiled at him. He followed him to his room and stayed there, laying on the floor while Jon works on his thesis, dragged him to the yard, their noses running with the cold.

He still couldn’t sleep at night and Jon still pulled away whenever he caught sight of Robb’s mother, but somehow they fell back into what they had before Robb had kissed him.

Sometimes, when the numbness he felt faded and the pain receded to the back of his mind, when Jon’s hand was on his or he smiled just right, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Those moments never lasted.

 

 

They sat outside at New Year’s Eve, all of them, crowded together in the gazebo, sharing drinks and jokes while Robb pretended not to notice the looks his mother shot at him, the way Jon worriedly watched him drinking. His grandfather smiled brightly, not a care in the world, and Robb knows that at least for him it’s true.

As one year became another fireworks exploded and faded in the sky. The drinks ended, the coldness grew, and slowly, one by one, they all seeked refuge inside the house until there were only Jon and Robb left standing in the snow.

There was a smile on Jon’s lips as he takes Robb’s hand, for once ignoring the watchful eyes from the kitchen window [as a song Robb didn't recognizes came up through the speakers on his phone.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_QpEilHF2Q)

It was awkward, dancing with him in the frosty night. They laughed as they stepped in each other’s toes, moving too fast or too slow, Robb hid his face on Jon’s shoulder, their steps taking them out into the open with snow melting on their hair, their faces, their clothes.

“You haven’t disappointed me, not really.” Jon starts, like it’s been weighting on his mind for a while. “But even if you had… I’d still be here, I’d still love you. Always. And everyone else too, trust me.” Robb nods, biting into his lip. “And if they didn’t, if they were stupid that way. It’s better to disappoint them than it is to disappoint yourself, isn’t it?” Jon holds him tighter against his body, lays a soft kiss against Robb’s forehead. Not expecting an answer.

Robb breathed in, wondering how he could let Jon go, let _this_ go. He can’t believe he had let himself forget how Jon smells. The woody cologne he still uses after all those years, the one Robb used to know the name before it became just “Jon’s smell” in his mind; the minty aftershave that made him want to rub his face all over Jon’s, the faint but sweet scent of his shampoo. Robb buried his head further into Jon’s neck and held onto him as they keep moving, feeling Jon’s heartbeat against his chest.

Jon’s gaze met his when he finally raised his head, dark grey eyes searching his face as he took a hand to Robb’s cheek. Robb leaning in, letting his forehead slide against Jon’s, sharing his breath. He wondered, at the back of his mind, if this was what his grandfather would call solving it quietly, in an orderly fashion.

“It’s not too late.” Jon whispered against his ear. Robb closed his eyes, the cold breeze raised goosebumps on his skin, but Jon was warm to the touch.

“No.” Robb said. “It isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's it guys.  
> This was *supposed* to be a cute christmas fic and it got way more complicated than that along the way. I tried to hold off on making it all about family drama and homophobia (and depression), but oh well. Hopefully it wasn't too much of a downer.
> 
> About Robb's depression, in the context of this story, with how Robb's parents reacted and his own choices, it made sense to me that he'd be at least a little depressed at this point in the story, and from there I thought he could be really depressed and decided to go with it. Now, I didn't look at a list of symptoms writing for Robb, nor did I base his experiences on someone else's, the way people experience depression and its symptoms vary and I tried to incorporate what I know and have read about it and what I thought made sense for him into the fic. Also I tried to make it clear that Jon can't "fix" him, and that he needs profissional help to get better. With that out of the way, I do hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read it this far and as always, feel free to let me know what you thought.


	4. Christmases, tables, and memories, an epilogue by Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after I was done with this fic, I wasn't, this is the result of way too much time thinking about an universe I thought I was over with.  
> I also wrote an interlude, that is set between chapters two and three and told by Jeyne, that I've decided to post on its own, you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567757), I would reccomend reading it first but it makes no real difference. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy the place I chose to end the story.

Catelyn would always remember her first christmas with the Starks. The way they sat around the table and watched as she followed Eddard into the room—the last time she had been in that house, Brandon was still alive.

She couldn’t tell for sure why that memory bubbled up on that christmas eve, so many years later. Maybe it was the way the afternoon settled heavily into the night, bringing even colder winds with it. That had been a particularly cold time of her life.

It was strange, she thought, how memories could be almost fully forgotten, only to resurface at the worst of times.

Brandon was a ghost that she had long since gotten rid of, a dream she had constructed and would be awaken from in the worst of ways had their romance ever progressed, and yet…

She let the wind shake the memories out of her mind, shuddering against the cold and wondering if it was a mistake to have the dinner out in the open, but she had tried in vain for years, and gods be damned this year she’d make it.

The chairs were set around the table covered in a white tablecloth with grey embroideries that she had picked herself for the occasion; she had left an extra seat, not quite sure if Sansa was coming alone or not.

She set the plates carefully, remembering idly a Christmas not that long ago, when she had tried to have the dinner outside too. Those had been cold days as well, less so, in that she had Robb there with her, her first son… and the last one at home. Picking up all the pieces he didn’t know he had lost.

It hadn’t been easy to watch, harder still to stand by and pretend she didn’t think he was making a mistake when he left home again, first to live alone, then to live with Jon. She had come to find that her thoughts and warnings counted less and less as her children grew. They all came back when they were lost and hurting, but in the end it was their life and she no longer could decide for them.

Ned watched her from inside, smiling as he caught her looking. She remembered how it had been to hold his hand through that first dinner, Brandon’s presence almost physical between them as she tried to be civil with Lyanna and ignore the looks the other sent her—The girl who had been in love with their dead brother, their dead son, and now was engaged to the other one. 

Like in that night, she had felt like an outsider in her own house for a long time. After many years she had refused to let it be so for any minute longer; she had brought five Starks into this world, she felt their joy and their pain through the years, she held them tightly and learned to let them go. She belonged here now.

Even still, the house felt empty, at times, without them. In those moments she would look for Ned, for his comfort and silence, try to decipher the look in his eyes while he smiled and told her it would be fine. She had wondered once if she could love him, she wondered now how could she not.

The table she was setting wasn’t the same she had sat at that night. That one had been left at Ned’s parent’s house, sturdy, old, and filled with stories written in the countless nights they sat around it—laughed and joked, argued and cried.

Yet… it was almost as if it had the same soul, the same essence, it was _her_ version of that table, _her_ memories carved into the wood; the first Christmas after Robb had come back home. The one where Sansa walked in crying, the ring gone from her finger and Joffrey Baratheon out of their lives. The last one where Bran and Rickon still lived there and Lyanna, of all people, comforted her—after  that, Catelyn could no longer let herself hold her alone responsible for the tragedy that had befallen them all.

The one after that, when Robb was gone, again. Then, two years later, when he and Jon arrived together, hand in hand. Catelyn knew when a battle was lost, (though Rickard did not, even on his last days), and at least… Robb seemed happy. Lyanna had words for her again then, while they sat around that same table at four in the morning with the taste of coffee burning in her mouth as she tried not to let its bitterness get to her. It felt like the end of the world as she knew it, sitting with her, sharing stories about their sons, comparing their motherhood, realizing how powerless they were to protect their children from anything, most of all themselves. She had been forced to realize they were not so different, in one thing at least.

Others still came to mind as she rearranged the flowers, checked the lights and asked Ned to get her a coat. They came like flashes filling her with emotions before being replaced by another memory.

The one where Arya dropped college, again, came home with a girlfriend who left in the middle of the night, and decided to use her rebellious streak to do graffiti… The ones no one came, where she and Ned watched TV on their own and it wasn’t good but it was nice to just _be_ in his arms again… The first time Sansa brought a boy after Joffrey and Catelyn prayed this one would be better, and he was. Harry was already a father, but madly in love with Sansa and her, for once, seemed to know what she was getting into.

She remembered Rickon’s wedding reception right there on their yard, Shireen Baratheon smiling brightly. She thought that, if nothing else, at least one of her children would get to have a happy wedding.

Ned helped her with the rest of the preparations, kissed her at the temple when they were done, hands on her cheeks. She held him close, let his warmth seep through her. She thought about their conversations at that table, the dinners and coffees, thought about the times he had placed her on top of it and settled between her legs like he belonged. She sighed.

He smiled against her skin. “What’s wrong?”

Catelyn smiled. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. Once, it would have been, but not anymore. Her children were happy—and if they weren’t, she had found they were brave enough to look for a change... even if that change was not one she could agree with—her husband was safe and healthy, her family was as fine as it could be expected. Not everything was right, but right now, nothing was wrong either.

She thought about the pain she’d felt, the pain she’d caused, and left it in the past. There was no place for it, not tonight.

Ned only let go of her as the doorbell rang, fingers sliding through her arm and hand until their fingertips could no longer touch and he was gone to answer the door. Catelyn followed him into the kitchen, preparing to serve the food while Lyanna walked in with a bottle of wine.

“Merry christmas,” She said smiling.

“Merry christmas,” Catelyn answered, leading her on their way out.

“She’s beautiful.” Lyanna confided in a whisper, her smile making her voice crack. Catelyn smiled in kind, anxiety bubbling in her chest.

“I’m sure she is.”

Sansa walked in next, Harry at her hand, grinning at her, and Arya after them. Rickon guided Bran inside, Shireen staying behind to help Lyarra in.

 

When they arrived, it was with Ned in front of them, carrying a little girl in his arms. The girl laughed as he moved her up and down, pretending to let go only to catch her again in the last second. Her red hair moved freely in the night air as Robb and Jon, walking outside hand in hand watched with the same delight Catelyn felt rising inside herself.

It was her first grandchild, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that was a happy ending huh? I'm a sucker for those anyway. Please let me know what you guys think!   
> Thanks for reading (:


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